<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>mini me by Anonymous</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491126">mini me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hetalia: Axis Powers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(the spamano's a little ambiguous n can be seen as platonic or romantic), Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Kidfic, Light Angst, fair warning for cursing, in the sense that they meet their child selves, thanks romano, that's all it's just, with a side of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:40:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,068</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491126</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy was wearing the normal white dress in which new nations were found, but Spain could tell this was no new nation. It was like looking in a mirror—hundreds of years ago. </p>
<p>(or: a short collection of drabbles about some countries interacting with their younger selves.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>England &amp; France (Hetalia), Germany &amp; North Italy (Hetalia), Iceland &amp; Norway (Hetalia), Lithuania &amp; Poland (Hetalia), South Italy &amp; Spain (Hetalia)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>mini me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i... found this fic in my google drive's trash. it was written four years ago. however when i read it i thought it was hilarious and overall pretty good, so here we are.</p>
<p>hope you like it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What is this and why is it clinging to me?”</p>
<p>Spain didn't hear Romano's complaint.</p>
<p>He was too busy staring at the little child in front of him, a small boy with curly brown hair and sparkling green eyes. He had appeared out of nowhere in Spain’s room that morning, and he had no idea where the boy had come from. He had an idea as to his identity, however. The boy was wearing the normal white dress in which new nations were found, but Spain could tell this was no new nation. It was like looking in a mirror—hundreds of years ago. </p>
<p>“Oh, you have one too. So what the hell are they?”</p>
<p>Spain finally glanced up at Romano as he stepped closer. The little boy, whom he hadn't even spoken a word to yet, gulped as he saw the other nation and hid behind Spain. Another child was clinging tightly to Romano’s leg, his face sour. Spain recognized him almost instantly. </p>
<p>“Wha<span>—</span> Romano?”</p>
<p>“What?” said Romano. </p>
<p>“What do you want, you jerk bastard?” said the boy on Romano’s leg. Romano looked down at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. </p>
<p>Spain looked down at the little boy hiding behind himself, only to find the boy looking up at him. He knelt down and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Hey, what's your name?”</p>
<p>“I- I'm Spain,” he said quietly. </p>
<p>“Alright, what the hell is going on?” Romano demanded. </p>
<p>“I think… that these two are our younger selves,” said Spain slowly. </p>
<p>The two Romanos made eye contact. “What? How the— why is he here?!” the older one shouted in bewilderment. </p>
<p>“I have no idea, but…” <em> they're cute. </em>Spain smiled warmly at the young version of himself that stood before him. “So you're Spain, huh? I'm Spain, too.”</p>
<p>“Really?” said little Spain, his eyes widening.</p>
<p>“Yup!”</p>
<p>“Are you a big country?” said little Spain with excitement. </p>
<p>Older Spain nodded and ruffled the younger one's hair. “I am. I'm happy with my country. Or, our country, I guess.”</p>
<p>The young boy smiled widely. Spain glanced up, belatedly realizing that Romano (both of them) had left the room. “Oh? And where did they go?” He stood up and walked to the door with his younger self following behind, and paused when he heard voices. </p>
<p>“So you're me, eh?” said young Romano. </p>
<p>“Looks like it.” Spain could hear the frown in older Romano’s voice. “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“Hell if I know, I just woke up to find you and two different jerk bastards here. Hmph. Maybe you're a jerk bastard, too.”</p>
<p>“You're calling yourself a jerk bastard?”</p>
<p>“Shut up!”</p>
<p>The two didn't seem to get along very well, but Spain thought of it as a good thing. It showed how Romano had grown and changed over the years. When silence fell, he started to walk towards the couch on which the two Romanos sat, but froze when they continued. </p>
<p>“So why do you stay here with that jerk bastard anyway?”</p>
<p>“I don't. I live with my brother, I was visiting Spain when you showed up.”</p>
<p>“Why would you visit?”</p>
<p>“He raised me. We're friends.”</p>
<p>Spain blinked. Romano would never say that to his face. </p>
<p>Little Romano huffed, and the two went quiet again. Spain felt a tug on his pants and leaned down for his younger self to whisper, “I raised him…?”</p>
<p>“Sì, he came to me a few hundred years ago when he was very young and I took care of him until he moved back in with his brother,” Spain explained. “He's a nice person, just a little bad tempered, and he cursed too much when he was younger.”</p>
<p>Little Spain nodded. The Romanos had gone quiet again, but Spain made no move to walk to them, waiting for their conversation to resume. Finally, he heard young Romano’s voice, sounding bitter but slightly hopeful. </p>
<p>“Do you feel loved?”</p>
<p>Spain felt his breath catch in his throat. His younger self watched him, slightly nervously, until he realized the cause of his older self’s apprehension. Romano waited a long time to answer. </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>The younger Romano scoffed irritably. “You jerk bastard. I hate you.”</p>
<p>Romano sighed quietly. “Yeah. Me, too.”</p>
<p>Spain felt his heart constrict painfully, tears pricking at his eyes. But to his surprise, it was his younger self to react first. Little Spain launched himself toward Romano, shouting, “<em>Nooo!</em>” When he reached him, he latched onto his leg and looked up at the Italian with teary eyes. </p>
<p>“What the<span>—</span>”</p>
<p>“No, don't talk like that! You are loved and you shouldn't hate yourself so stop it!”</p>
<p>“He's right, Romano.” Spain stepped forward.</p>
<p>“You<span>—</span> YOU BASTARD! You weren't supposed to hear that!” Romano’s face went slightly red, perhaps from embarrassment. </p>
<p>“Why do you hate yourself?” little Romano asked quietly. </p>
<p>Romano glanced at his younger self, looking pained. He stumbled briefly over his words before finally managing, “My brother… everyone loves my brother and thinks he's so perfect and they hardly even notice me. Except this bastard,” he added, glaring at Spain. “But everyone does it. And it's true, he's nicer than me, he has more friends, better at art<span>—</span>”</p>
<p>“Stop it, Romano!”</p>
<p>Little Spain sniffled and tears slipped down his cheeks. “That's not true! Or, even if it is it doesn't matter because people still love you!”</p>
<p>“You never said all this to me!” little Romano yelled accusingly, glaring at older Spain. Spain sat between the two Romanos and put a hand on the younger one's head, who promptly shoved it off (“Don't touch me, jerk bastard!”). The older one scooted away, but he couldn't avoid it as the younger Spain climbed into his lap. </p>
<p>“I'm sorry Romano, I should have told you,” Spain said guiltily. “I would've told you all the time. I guess I didn't realize you needed to hear it.”</p>
<p>“Of course I needed to hear it,” little Romano mumbled, curling in on himself as if trying to sink into the couch. Spain smiled and pulled the small nation into a hug. “Get off me, you<span>—</span>!”</p>
<p>“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'll tell you all the time now.” Spain pretended not to notice the tiny fists gripping his clothes as he glanced over at his own younger self with Romano. Little Spain was still crying quietly, rubbing his face on Romano’s shirt as the Italian tried not to touch him. Spain could hear his younger self muttering quiet, unintelligible comforts to Romano, but seeing as Romano didn't seem to understand either, it didn't look like they were helping. Spain smiled at the sight, and released little Romano long enough to pull both Romanos and his own young self into a hug. </p>
<p>“You've always been loved, Romano,” he said to neither in particular. He kissed the older one's temple, causing him to turn bright red. “I'll help you to love yourself, too.”</p>
<p>“You<span>—</span> you bastard.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~*~*~</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em> MEANWHILE </em> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Germany, Germany, look, it's a little me!”</p>
<p>Germany looked up in surprise, turning his eyes from the young boy in front of him to the bouncing man behind him who was holding up a tiny child in a maid outfit. “<em>Ciao!</em>” the child said happily, holding up a hand in greeting. </p>
<p>“So that's what they are? They're younger versions of us?” said Germany, glancing back down at the little blond boy behind him, who looked very confused. </p>
<p>“I think so. Mr. Austria and Miss Hungary said this is me, so it has to be true!” Italy replied, setting the child on the ground gently. His eyes landed on the blond boy, and he gasped. “Is this you? Oh, Germany, you were so cute!!”</p>
<p>Germany looked down at the little Italy, who smiled happily up at him. It was undeniably the same man who he was allied with, but the maid outfit threw him off. <em> He looks like a girl.  </em></p>
<p>The door flew open. </p>
<p>“HEY, WEST, CHECK THIS OUT! I FOUND A LITTLE KID WHO LOOKS JUST LIKE ME! D'YOU WANNA SEE<span>—</span>”</p>
<p>The door slammed shut on Prussia’s face. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Japan did not greet the child that he found. He remembered his childhood fairly well, so he recognized the young black-haired boy quickly. </p>
<p>But they did not need to speak. Instead, they were like old friends, only speaking when necessary but otherwise communicating nonverbally.</p>
<p>That was how Japan liked it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Similarly, China could not be reached. But instead of being silent, he would not stop talking. The moment he found his young self in his home, he knew he had to tell the little country stories. The stories he picked were all true, of course<span>—</span>they were stories about China as a country. </p>
<p>China lost his voice by mid-afternoon. And so the little country's questions began. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What are you doing here, you bloody frog?!”</p>
<p>France shouldn't have been surprised by the words that were shouted by two voices at once. After all, the voices belonged to the same insufferable country, but he hadn't realized there would be two of them. He had half hoped that he would be the only one to meet his young self, but no such luck apparently. </p>
<p>“I merely came for a visit. I see you met the younger version of yourself as well,” he said, attempting politeness. The little France behind him scowled at the young England in front of him. </p>
<p>“You too, huh?” muttered the older England. “What are they doing here, anyway?”</p>
<p>France shrugged. “No idea. But they're cute, aren't they?” he added, grinning down at his younger self. </p>
<p>“Of course,” said the little France, smirking at the little England. </p>
<p>“Shut up, I'm cuter than you!” little England snapped. </p>
<p>“Ugh, get out before I vomit,” groaned older England. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Um, France, England is crying.</em>”</p>
<p>“Ah, America, what did you do this time?” sighed France into the phone. </p>
<p>“<em>No idea, I came over with this little kid who looks like me and Canada showed up too and he started crying.</em>”</p>
<p>France could vaguely hear the Canadian’s voice trying frantically to comfort England, and then: “<em>Sod off, and hang up the damn phone, you wanker!</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Russia blinked. </p>
<p>“What? Why don't you like it?” he asked, disappointed. </p>
<p>“Um… it's kinda scary…” said little Estonia, glancing up at the metal pipe again. </p>
<p>“Why is it so special?” ventured little Latvia. </p>
<p>“It's my magic metal pipe of pain!” cheered Russia. </p>
<p>The two little Baltics shied away even more. Their older selves steered them away quickly, and Russia was left in the kitchen alone, holding his pipe. Then he felt a tug on his clothing. </p>
<p>“Can I see it?” asked the little version of Russia. The older country grinned and held the faucet pipe out for the younger one to take. Little Russia held it with reverence, then reared back and swung it hard into Russia’s leg. Russia didn't even flinch. “Is that how it works?” </p>
<p>“That's exactly it!” Russia ruffled the hair of his younger self, smiling widely. </p>
<p>“<em>Brother!</em>”</p>
<p>The loud, drawn-out word interrupted the two. The older Russia grabbed his younger self’s hand and dashed from the room, and little Russia didn't protest. Russia was helping little Russia avoid little Belarus, who was being sought after by older Belarus. Ukraine had taken her young self somewhere else. Russia had long since decided to avoid them, suspecting that their conversations would have something to do with a woman's chest. </p>
<p>Estonia and Latvia just tried to stay out of it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lithuania marveled at how little Poland had grown. That is to say, Poland in general. Meaning he hadn't grown. The difference between Poland and young Poland was only in height. </p>
<p>As Poland regaled his younger self with stories<span>—</span>fairy tales<span>—</span>from his country, Lithuania sat with his own younger self on the couch. “The Teutonic Knights came after me a lot,” little Lithuania was saying. “Is he still around?”</p>
<p>“Yes. We call him Prussia now. It doesn't make him any less annoying.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Little Lithuania glanced behind them at the Polands. “Are you and Poland good friends?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, he's one of my closest friends,” said Lithuania. “I'm friends with the other Baltics too, of course.”</p>
<p>“Um… what is he doing…?”</p>
<p>Lithuania finally turned to follow his younger self’s gaze, only to see Poland handing his own young self dresses, and little Poland putting them on excitedly. </p>
<p>“I don't know.” He sighed. “He can't be helped. I've tried.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Say it,” said Norway. </p>
<p>“Don't say it,” said Iceland. </p>
<p>“I'm confused,” said little Iceland. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this fic doesn't reflect my current writing style but plz drop your thoughts below i Thrive on comments&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>